


How Beautiful Were the Stars

by rainbowstrlght



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowstrlght/pseuds/rainbowstrlght
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU drabble where Chris meets Zach while he's still in high school, and Zach is about to join the army.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Beautiful Were the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> **Note:** For the [Pinto Fest Drabblethon](http://community.livejournal.com/pintofest/11943.html), with the prompt "draftee". Was originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/pintofest/11943.html?thread=133287#t133287). Only posting to AO3 because I intend to someday write a sequel, and would like a draft to link to in reference. ♥

Chris had barely slept the night before. It was fucking hot-as-shit this August of ’95, and he probably sweated out every ounce of moisture in his system. But the truth was, that barely mattered.

Not this morning. Not today.

Their slick skin had plastered their bodies together, as they had slept on Chris’ creaky mattress in his attic bedroom. Chris had watched the hues of the night tick the hours by, as Zach’s breathing slowed to a predictable rhythm in sleep. How his boyfriend could actually _dream_ , much less keep his eyes closed, was beyond him - as Chris was nervous as hell, and scared, and every other emotion he didn’t want to admit out loud.

Because Zach was leaving for the Army. He was going to leave this pathetic, lonely kid he had met this summer, and probably never look back.

When the alarm clock said 4am, Chris kissed the tanned shoulder, and slid off the bed. As he pulled on his boxers, he wanted to memorize all of it – all the planes of this beautiful body laid out before him; from the curves of muscles down that lean back, to the lithe muscle of those legs twisted in the patterned bedsheet.

But when the alarm clock said 4:30, Chris knew he had to hustle.

He quietly made his way down the wooden steps. There was a blessing to his parents being professionals, and gone most of the time. As a kid, he would’ve given anything for a mom who would’ve been there in the morning at breakfast, or a father who would’ve gruffly woken him up for school.

Now, it was the best gift loneliness could give him. He would try to remember to be grateful from now on.

He turned on the kitchen light, and blinked rapidly at the brightness. He went over to the sink to wash his hands, then looked around at the work before him.

How did this freakin’ go, again? He hoped he had a packet of Bisquik. If he had to guess measurements, he would be screwed. This wasn’t the type of thing his executive mother probably kept in a recipe box – hell, did she even _have_ a recipe box?

But thankfully he found a dusty, unopened package of mix, and set to work. It was an idea that had lighted in his brain during those sleepless hours, and sparked a desire (and sincere hope) that it would be something to remember.

It was his last shot. Pancakes with chocolate chips and bananas were all he had if he couldn’t get Zach to remember him, now. And in all his 15 years, he had never wanted to be remembered so desperately by anyone.

Because no matter what anyone would think, when Chris had met the brunette at the sno cone stand that summer, that had been it. _That_ had been it. When the quiet voice of that handsome stranger had requested cherry, Chris’ hands trembled as the coloring spilled onto his hand, over the paper edge of the cone, and onto his uniform - _everywhere_ , fuck him, over that _voice_.

But Zach had smiled at him, and bit into it slowly. After a moment, he had nodded, and said, “This might be the best half-melted sad-as-fuck sno cone I’ve ever tasted. Might have to come back for another.”

And he had. Every day for a month, until Chris had figured out exactly what that fluttering feeling in his stomach was, and what he needed to do about it.

Maybe that’s why he desperately wanted to be remembered - because he had never felt that way, before. Hell, he hadn’t even known he was _gay_ before he met Zach Quinto; who was serendipitously spending the summer with his grandparents in LA, until he had to leave for the Army.

 _The Army_. Which was expecting Zach to report in about two hours.

One night beneath a clear sky of constellations, Zach had explained how his father had been in the service. That if the cancer hadn’t taken him, then maybe he would still be there; instead of being buried in a hole in the ground. That _this_ , in a way, made Zach feel he could know his father somehow. Zach wanted to go to college for the arts, but didn’t have the money – but with a government program, this seemed like a _win-win_ , for him.

So Chris had kept his breaking heart to himself. Boys _really_ didn’t fall in love with other boys, did they? Especially since they had just met. Zach would leave, and Chris would be the only one to remember how beautiful Zach’s skin had looked in the moonlight; while Zach would probably only remember how beautiful were the stars.

“Hey.”

Chris turned from the frying pan, when he heard Zach’s sleepy voice enter the kitchen. A part of his mind was already on the freak-out, as he had burned _every damn pancake_ that had touched the fucking skillet.

“Hey,” Chris said back; trying to clear his mind so he wouldn’t cry, like some stupid girl. He flipped the black pancake out of the frying pan, and tried not to sigh.

Unexpectedly, a hand grasped the panhandle over his, and Chris tried to restrain his gasp.

Zach didn’t seem to notice. “The trick is,” and Zach fiddled with a knob, “you don’t need to keep it on high. Also, this needs to be well greased.”

Zach scraped the charred bits from the pan as Chris watched, and then added a generous dollop of butter. In no time, it seemed that Zach had made a dozen pancakes, perfectly browned and circular, and stacked in an even pile.

Zach rinsed the mixing bowl, and looked at the stack. “Man, did you use the whole box?”

Chris bit his lip, and Zach gave a chuckle. “Well, you’ll have left-overs, for sure.”

As Zach put away the pan, Chris tried to will himself to behave normally. After all, he had just fucked up breakfast. Crying over something like that would probably be a deal-breaker, and have Zach practically _running_ from his house – although, really, being a whiney little bitch was _maybe_ something to remember.

As they sat down with their plates, Zach gave him a quizzical look. “What’s up?”

“Huh?”

“You’re all quiet and thoughtful. You always have something brewing in your head – but normally you just blurt it, instead of locking it up.”

Chris swallowed. What could he even possibly say? “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“You didn’t have to make breakfast you know.” Zach smiled, as he leaned over and kissed Chris’ cheek. “I missed you; when I woke up.”

The words made Chris’ chest clench. But Zach couldn’t possibly mean them, right? Not the way that Chris wanted them to.

“Sorry, I thought – I thought you might like breakfast.” Chris sighed. “And you wound up making it yourself, anyway.”

Zach bit into a stack of pancake on a fork. “Thank you – but it was just as well. I got to spend time with you; that’s what matters.”

The moment filled with silence, as silverware clinked against emptying plates. When they were both finished, Chris got up to take the dishes to the sink, but Zach stilled him with a hand.

“Sit here with me. Please?”

Chris immediately sat, but Zach didn’t let go.

The hand turned over his palm, and wove their fingers together properly. Several minutes passed, as they heard the birds chirping outside, and bits of traffic. They glanced at each other, and it was like a magnet – Chris couldn’t look away, not for the world.

But after what seemed like hours, and yet no time at all, Zach squeezed his hand, then let go.

“I need to get my stuff.”

Chris nodded. When Zach got up from the table, Chris grabbed the syrup-encrusted plates, and piled them into the sink.

Really, he needed the moment to compose himself, if he had to. But he wasn’t – he _couldn’t_. Not now.

Footsteps on the stairs made him turn around, and Zach had the duffel bag over his shoulder. When he reached the last step, he paused.

This was goodbye. This was _really_ “goodbye”. What did a person do, when you might not see someone in the flesh ever, _ever_ again?

Zach walked towards him, his hand already out to caress an arm. “Chris.”

Chris looked up into those dark eyes, and – he couldn’t hold them back any longer. Fuck him, he _couldn’t_.

“Hey - _hey_.” Zach let a thumb graze his cheek, and caught the tear at the corner of his eye. “None of that.” There was a kiss to the forehead, and, “This isn’t _goodbye_ , you know.”

Chris looked up sharply. “It isn’t?”

Zach looked startled a moment, before he laughed. “Hell no! Chris - _Chris_.” He sighed, and then leaned forward with his eyes closed; resting their heads together. “Do you have any idea what you _do_ to me?”

Chris grasped a bicep, and sniffed. “I didn’t want to push it

“Yeah, but you can – you _should_.” He kissed the forehead again, then whispered, “This is probably the worst timing; but before, I didn’t think you would know what I meant.”

Zach tilted his head at the sink. “You tried to make me pancakes.”

Chris narrowed his brow. “… Yeah?”

“At five o’clock in the morning.”

Chris shrugged. “Yeah?”

Zach kissed his lips. “No one’s ever bothered to make me breakfast before.” Another kiss. “And no one’s ever really cared, before.” And another kiss. “ _I_ don’t think I ever really cared before.”

Chris felt a tongue on his bottom lip, and he open up – opened everything up, trying to soak it in; into the deep hole in his chest he was threatening to succumb to, the moment Zach left.

Zach whispered into the darkness, “ _I love you_.”

Chris shut his eyes, and choked out, “Don’t forget me - please don’t forget me.”

It was horrifying, the silence that followed. But Zach dropped his bag, and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“Never. _Never_. Chris – this has been the _best damn summer_ of my entire life.” He pulled Chris back to look him in the eyes. “I think I should beg you not to forget _me_.”

It was as simple as that; the air clearing as they held each other one last time, and one last kiss. Zach wiped the last tear from his cheek, before he picked up his bag again to leave.

Chris walked him to his car in the driveway, and watched as Zach opened and shut the back door for his duffel bag. The sun was threatening to break on the horizon, when Chris leaned in for one last kiss.

“I love you too, you know.” Chris smiled. “I’m not sure if _I_ really cared what that meant, before I met you.”

And it happened too fast – the way Zach had to get in his car, and leave. The way his heart lurched, when the door shut, and the engine started, and Zach pulled out of the drive. But mostly, when he turned onto the street, and Chris couldn’t see the beat-up Camry when it turned a corner, and out of sight.

Life happened too quickly. The sun was out in full force, before Chris realized he had been standing in the driveway for who knows how long; as if waiting for the car to come back.

 _Chris_ would most certainly remember. And in that moment, that seemed more important than anything in his very young, and mostly-unknown world.


End file.
